Art of Subtlety
by Jackoat
Summary: It pays to be subtle, especially if you have a reputation for obviousness. Both work equally well, though. Chapter 2 now up.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Constructive criticism is always appreciated as well as pointing out parts that may be OOC.**

_He's not quite sure how Fiona ended up giving him a lap dance, just that he likes it._

* * *

Fiona gyrated her hips from side to side, turning around slowly until her back faced him. Her hips shimmied to the beat of the music and her ass swayed tantalizingly before his face. He could see the low cut of her thong and the smoothness of her curves. Michael thought about how much he wanted to touch her and rub his hand over her cheeks.

No, wait! The con artist! Michael pulled his eyes away from Fiona's gyrations and looked over to his right. The criminal, Greg Davis, was enjoying a lap dance of his own from a rather attractive blonde. Davis caught his eye and grinned. "Enjoying yourself, Hart?"

"Time of my life." Michael replied and turned his attentions back to Fiona who was facing him again. She was smiling like a Cheshire cat, clearly enjoying this too much. "You know, Michael, this is more fun than I thought it would be," she whispered in his ear as she leaned in.

"Fi!" He hissed back. "We're done – we got what we came for. I need to turn the numbers over to Barry." Michael stood up and tried to sidestep her, but it was like she wasn't even listening. Instead, she pushed him down on the nearest couch and somehow managed to start straddling his lap.

"Is this seat taken?" Her voice was warm and low in his ear.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose up. Michael gripped her shoulders, trying to get her to stop the very unwholesome things she was doing with her hips, still sitting spread-eagled in his lap. He was starting to get extremely aroused and lose focus; he couldn't remember the last time she had been so suffocatingly close. Fiona smirked.

Then it hit him, why he had been so crazy and feeling like he was about to snap the past few weeks. He closed his eyes and breathed in sharply.

Fiona did not do subtle; she freaking tested relationships with the emotional equivalent of artillery fire. _Insistent_ at a relationship that he couldn't give, no matter how much he wanted to. Constantly making suggestive flirting with him outright.

Maybe that's why it took him so long before he realized what was going on. He had spent the last few weeks on edge, snippy, and a bit more reckless than usual, but never really understood why.

Lately, Fiona hadn't been so open. Gone were the double entendres and the provocations. Sure, Fiona always tried to seduce him, but maybe that's why he missed it – the subtlety. Instead, she was touching him, _all the time_, like never before; only the moments were so fleeting because she was seducing him when he was focused on the _job_.

She leaned over his shoulder when he was watching the surveillance tapes on his laptop, the shampoo smell of her just-washed hair wrapping herself around her. He'd been too busy looking for minute details to notice completely.

She'd brush her ass against him as she grabbed a yogurt when he made incendiary devices. Of course, he had his full concentration on connecting the right wires together. Criss-cross the wrong wires and it might not detonate when they needed it to.

And earlier, Davis had asked them to meet him at the strip club. It was a good place – hard to bug because of the sound and any man rejecting a striptease was a tail or fed. Couldn't place a bug on a person either with a stripper right in front – unless you were the stripper – which Fiona was.

He had insisted for Fiona, or, _Carey_, as her cover ID was named, give them a show. If she refused, it was an easy way to out them as cops since _Hart_ and _Carey_ were supposed to be together.

So Fiona did her own show for Davis, but he's not quite sure how he ended up getting a lap dance instead.

Screw that. He did know; he asked for it. But didn't ask for it at the same time. It was all Fiona's fault for interpreting things differently and never listening to him. Obviously.

Michael had watched on as Fiona danced for him and planted the bug under his collar. Then he joked that Davis was getting a little too much attention so Fi could have an excuse to stop.

But she didn't. She turned her attentions onto _him_ instead.

His head snapped back to the present. "Michael, you need to relax. Hart would like this." Fiona held his gaze and rubbed his shoulders and felt him loosen. "Just. Like. That." She flicked her tongue in his ear. Fiona rubbed herself against his hardening erection and tugged at his collar to get Michael to open his eyes.

"You planned this." Michael's tone was accusatory, his eyes narrowed.

"Planned what?" Fiona raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes. Playing innocent.

"Fiona Glenanne, you are seducing me." A slow grin crept on Michael's face. "You couldn't ask me out like a regular person."

"Would you even have agreed?" Fiona cocked her head to the side.

"Probably not." Michael acquiesced. "Instead, I get to have a public lap dance. In front of Davis. There's not even a private room here."

Fiona's response was to grind even harder, eliciting a groan from Michael. He put his hands on his gyrating hips and kissed her, running his tongue along her teeth and she moaned. Fiona cupped the back of his head, pushing his tongue in farther.

His arousal was so tight and uncomfortable against his slacks, but her ministrations were so electrifying that Michael half didn't want to get up. He wouldn't mind a slow buildup like this, he thought.

"Fi," Michael gasped as Fiona tweaked his nipples through his shirt. "Your house is only ten minutes away from here. We could..."

Fiona's dropped her mouth in mock surprise and she slapped him on the chest. "Michael! That's the best idea you've had all month! But are you sure you want to leave, _now_?" She smirked again.

She leaned in and started a downward descent of kisses on his neck.

"Uh-uh-uh-" Michael stammered, finding his throat seized up and utterly useless for producing comprehensible sounds. He swallowed audibly. "Now would be a good time." His voice was coarse and he almost whimpered when Fiona pulled herself away and stood up. The erection suddenly became that much more painful, bunched up in his slacks. Fiona raised her eyebrows, watching him take deep breaths. As if he could really will his erection to subside. "Are you coming?"

"Just," Michael paused.

"Just what?"

"Give me a second, here." He threw the car keys to Fiona and turned to the con-artist on the neighboring sofa.

"Davis!" He grinned. "Thanks so much for inviting us out here. Listen, I'm going to head home for a bit of... quality time with Ash. Talk financials tomorrow."

Davis waved him off, too focused on his own stripper. That was the thing about strip clubs. With the right girl, it was so easy to get distracted.

Michael looked back at Fiona, who was already walking away, hips sashaying. She did have a nice ass. He pushed himself off of the couch – which wasn't easy, and awkwardly walked towards the exit, grin plastered on his face and planning the rest of his evening with her.


	2. Chapter 2

People say that dreams are manifestations of the subconscious. Michael didn't really have an opinion – nor did he care or ever bother to contemplate the hidden meanings of his dreams. That's not to say that he didn't enjoy them.

He didn't – or tried not to – think about her – _much_ – during the day. He didn't want to; a relationship could never be. But at night, she was everywhere.

_Fiona kissing him against the railing of the loft. Fiona riding him in the seat of the Charger. Fiona muffling the screaming of his name as she bit into his shoulder. Fiona under him, against the wall, on the floor, on the kitchen table, even on the goddamned green armchair. It was like a six-hour porn movie on repeat every night for weeks._

The sunrise brought him the usual morning wood, intensified by the sexual nature of his dreams.

It was funny how this caused him to _ignore_ Fiona even more, Michael thought, which only led to Fiona continuing the subtlety, laying it just a little more thickly each time. And now, dreams become reality. He followed Fiona out of the strip bar, keeping close to her and using her to hide the awkward bulge in his pants until they reached the Charger.

Only, he didn't really "reach" it.

Fiona pulled the back door open and swung on her heel, shoving Michael in with the momentum of her turn, and climbed in on top of him.

"Not enough cover!" Michael protested, pointing to the windows.

"It's dark out," Fiona replied plainly, rubbing her hips on his taut stomach.

"Tactically vulnerable," he continued.

"I can see," she grinned from her vantage point, letting her fingers trace his thighs.

"Someone could ambush us," he persisted.

Fiona looked down at him, incredulous. Her hands stopped. "Michael, you have a beautiful woman on top of you right now, who you haven't been able to get off of your mind –" She narrowed her eyes at him when he opened his mouth to protest that, no, it was only at night and he wasn't technically _trying_ to get her off of his mind, but he quickly closed his mouth again.

Fiona continued, bristling. "Maybe I'm not good enough for you, is that it?" She moved to get off him, but Michael's hands reached up to grab her hips.

"No. Stop. I'm sorry," Michael looked at her intently. "You're more than that; you're amazing." He looked down and traced 8's on her thigh.

"Michael," Fiona sighed, "I don't know what to think. What do you want? I swear, you're so cold and uncaring that I have no idea what y–"

"You think I'm cold? You think I don't care? Who spent six hours just trying to fit explosives into watches so you didn't have to get under a car on hot pavement in the middle of the afternoon?" He interjected angrily.

Fiona tilted her head, the sides of her lips twitching, threatening to break out into a smile.

"Who takes extra shift hours during surveillance so you can read magazines and sleep?" He continued, "Who lets you have the _last yogurt_? And who –"

Fiona kissed him, cutting him off. Then smiling at his initial reaction of shock, before it turned into hunger as he kissed back. "I'm sorry. You do care."

"I do." He repeated softly before grinning, "You haven't been making it easy for me to not think about you."

Fiona laughed, her body movement rubbing against his crotch and making him grunt. She realized his discomfort and climbed off of him. "Let's go to my house. More comfortable for you." She winked and got into the front seat of the car.

"I'm never comfortable around you," Michael muttered under his breath as he took his seat in shotgun, "that, and my gun digging into my back."

"Are you going to keep up the subtlety?" He wondered when they were in drive.

"Hm..." Fiona pondered, "No. Being upfront is more fun." She stole a sideway glance at Michael. He didn't miss it.

"Oh?" His eyes studied her profile.

Fiona nodded and a cat-like smile spread slowly across her face. "It's so much more fun when I tell you how I just want to take you right now and fuck you silly." She punctuated the last word with a sharp left turn that threw Michael into the window.

"Fi..."

"Or when I tell you how hot you look in black stealth gear, the way your shirt fits you perfectly and outline every muscle." Another swerving turn.

"Fi!"

"And that it's so _inspiring_ when one second you're looking at me with that killer smile, and the next second you can barely breathe when you're in my mouth." She veered onto another street.

"Fiona."

"And then when you're moving inside me at _just the right angle_, you fill me up so perfectly and you hit all the right places –" The car lurched and the tires squealed to a stop.

"_Fiona._"

"Relax, Michael. We're here." Fiona stepped out of the car and unlocked the front door of her house. She looked over her shoulder and was surprised to see Michael still in the car. "Are you coming?" She saw his face nod jerkily through the windshield.

_Who knew subtlety and bluntness could be equally effective_? Fiona thought with a smile. She'd let him have a breather.

Michael really couldn't believe it. She _never_ seemed out of control, yet he was fighting just to keep himself sane right now. Unacceptable. His fists clenched.

He got out and slammed the car door just a little harder than usual and stalked through the open door of her house, toeing it closed.

"Oh good, you're –" Fiona didn't even finish before Michael spun her around and pinned her arms to the hallway wall. He smiled inwardly at her surprised gasp.

"Do you think it's fun to play with me?" His voice was harsh, but even. Fiona raised her eyebrows, confused, and admittedly, a little bit turned on.

"Does it turn you on when you tease me? You say you have no idea what you do to me, but I think you do." His words were hot against her ear. "Do you realize how frustrating it is, wanting something but having to hold myself back?"

Fiona wasn't sure why, but she suddenly felt _guilt_. His hand slowly caressing her face while the other pinned her arms up didn't help, either. Damn his hands for being so big.

"Me? I'm the one who has to deal with a man who acts with the sex drive of a _panda_." Fiona's eyes flashed. "Oh, this is a bad security place. This makes us tactically vulnerable," she mimicked, "I need to get this to Barry. I –"

Michael covered her mouth and growled. "It's called self-control, which is something that you clearly don't have!"

Fiona was furious; any sentiments of guilt left her. "Go fuck yourself," she mumbled against his hand. Michael didn't miss a beat in his reply, "Thanks for proving my point; you were practically all over me tonight, trying to get a rise out of me." He let his hand drop, tracing her jaw line with his thumb and down the side of her breast, all the while never breaking eye contact. Fiona didn't know whether to feel turned on or completely angry. She contemplated stomping his foot, but she knew that he had hurt his ankle yet again jumping off of a building on the last mission. At the same time she hated being pinned to the wall; she felt helpless.

So she opted to just wait him out, knowing that he was probably trying to keep him self _under control_, as he had so put it.

They stared each other down. Michael, for all his crazed edginess, wasn't a brilliant spy for lack of self-discipline. Fiona, could be extremely stubborn – her resolve unwavering. Right now, however, with their sinewy bodies pressed so closely together and practically moments away from delicious frenzy, they each felt their resolves weaken. His jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed.

"Fiona," he whispered, bringing his hand back up to her face.

And she caved, but not without a fight. She _headbutted_ him, and he loosened his grip on her wrists in surprise. Fiona took the opportunity to twist out under him and pushed him back against the opposite wall, grabbing his collar and kissing him with everything she had, her tongue running in his mouth. He recovered quickly and pressed back as well, locking his tongue with hers. He ran one hand through her hair and the other down her back, feeling the satin material of her dress.

The kisses alternated between hard and slow, but equally drugging. He could make out with Fiona all night. She was his polar opposite, but completed him. His hand traveled from the small of her back to her thighs, massaging dangerously near her core.

Everything about Michael was intoxicating; his touch was like bourbon – searing her skin with every touch. They pulled back, gasping for air.

Michael immediately stood up, gathering Fiona into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom, and dropped her on the bed. He looked at her expectantly.

"What?" Fiona snapped.

"Your dress."

"Your clothes first," she scowled, not one to cede control that easily. Michael didn't seem to care either way, dropping his shirt on the floor and unbuckling his pants. His pants crumpled, and off went the socks. "Your turn."

Fiona raised her eyebrows. _Close enough_, she thought, and she raised her arms. Michael laughed, pulling up the dress over her head. She couldn't help but crack a smile either before recalling that she was still pissed at him for making her so, _so_ crazy. Then her eyes landed on the tent in his boxers. Oh.

She pulled the boxers down – Michael shaking them off – and his erection sprang out, precum leaking. She grasped the cock and pressed her thumb to the tip, rubbing the moisture in. Michael moaned as she pumped his cock in her right hand, other hand massaging his balls.

He knocked her hands away and pressed her back onto the bed, taking in the sight of her. Her hair messed up every which direction, her slate-blue eyes piercing him like needles, her small breasts with its nipples hard and ready – she never _ever_ wore a bra. The sculpted abs and toned _fucking gorgeous_ legs wrapping around the back of his knees. God, he was a sucker from day one.

He untied the flimsy thong and threw it over his shoulder, before leaning in to kiss her clavicle, trailing down. Even as blood was pounding through his head and rushing through other parts of his body, he wanted to savor the moment. He ran his teeth over her nipple, hearing Fiona's incredibly sensual moans, and took it in his mouth, sucking the point and massaging the other breast with his hand. He switched breasts and repeated the same thing, letting the soundtrack of Fiona's impossible erotic moans guide him.

Then he pressed open-mouthed kisses down her middle to just before her core and moved back up to his neck. Fiona's nails dug into his back and raked over his shoulders. He kissed up to the tan flesh of her neck and bit, leaving behind a mark. A love bite that would hopefully fade by tomorrow, Fiona thought.

"Fuck me already," she gritted out.

Michael didn't stop his slow kisses, moving down once again. "Say it."

"Fuck you, Michael Westen," she groaned, "fuck you."

"That's what you're here for," he replied evenly, finally stopping at her pussy, wet and dripping. He took a long lick of her juices, lapping up her taste. Her eyes squeezed shut, lost in the ecstasy.

He didn't let her have it so easily, though, and pulled back. "Tell me what you want. It was so easy for you in the car, wasn't it?"

Fiona glared at him. "Fuck me. I want you to screw me senseless."

"Beg for it." He wanted to see Fiona on edge for once, uncontrolled and uninhibited.

She narrowed her eyes. "No."

Michael raised his eyebrow, but said nothing. He went back to between her legs only this time, dragging his tongue just on the inside, but not quite touching her where she wanted it. He drew his tongue back and forth, just outside of her pussy lips, but never coming _close enough_ for her. This continued on for several minutes until Fiona cried out in exasperation.

"Please, Michael, please," she whined, "I want you in me so much. I feel so empty without you. Just, _fuck me for God's sakes! _Fuck me senseless, silly, hard, slow, however you want. I don't care. Just _do it_."

Her frantic, uninhibited words were all the invitation he needed and he buried his aching self in her – hearing Fiona's sharp intake and smiling – then gasping as he felt her walls stretching and then clamping around him. So torturously good. Her legs wrapped around him and he started moving, slowly at first, before building up to a crescendo. "Shit, you're so hot and tight," Michael whispered, as his hips pistoned in and out in rhythm.

Fiona's arms were wrapped around him, fingers digging into his shoulder, and with every thrust, Michael could feel her breasts rub against him. She buried her face in his neck and grunted each time he stroked into her, feeling the buildup of her release.

Michael could feel her start to come as the contractions around his cock became so deliciously tighter, and captured her impending moans in a kiss. She screamed his name against his mouth, only they came out muffled – the sounds as vibrations between their lips.

He felt himself starting to come, and liquid fire sent sparks throughout his entire body. He spasmed on top of her as wave after wave of intense pleasure hit a high, intensified by her contracting her own muscles to draw out his release. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling shakily.

Fiona rubbed circles on his back and murmured into his ear, "You know, you make me crazy sometimes."

"Yeah. I know the feeling." Michael mumbled from her neck.

* * *

**A/N: Whew, this chapter took a while to write. Hope you enjoyed! First, I didn't have _any_ idea of how to continue it without making it seem... sappy. Then I struggled on the dialogue; were they in character? Did Fiona come off as too self-centered? Or Michael too loose? Did any of their lines sound off? In the end, I think I was able to strike a balance and I'm happy with my finished product, but I welcome any comments about characterization, dialogue, as well as areas for improvement. **


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